


Candy Corn Is Much Better When Eating It Makes Your Troll Cream His Pants

by SadVegeta



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Horn Stimulation, JohnDaveKat - Freeform, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-07-11
Packaged: 2018-11-30 20:09:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11470767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SadVegeta/pseuds/SadVegeta





	Candy Corn Is Much Better When Eating It Makes Your Troll Cream His Pants

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Xi-qi-Hua (NSEW)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NSEW/gifts).



“It’s convoluted at best and completely nonsensical at worst.” Dave argues from his side of the couch, fingers idly moving through his matesprit’s nest of black hair, nails scratching lightly at his scalp. John rolls his eyes at him.

“Don’t blame the movie if you’re too slow to keep up, Dave.” His bespectacled boyfriend retaliates, arm laying across his grouchy kismesis’ shoulders. Karkat is slouching, wedged uncomfortably between them as he's manhandled from both sides.

The sun had set recently, leaving the living room of the house Dave and Karkat shared together dim, a shadow cast over the couch the three of them were occupying. The glow from the TV gave the room a comfortable atmosphere.

They started these movie dates after Dave confessed to John he had feelings for him and their open relationship became a three man show. Karkat and Dave had been matesprits for years at that point, since before they won the game and got off that godawful meteor. Karkat’s and John’s relationship started shortly after that victory, once John had admitted to reconsidering a lot of things about himself after three long years on the ship. Apparently he wasn’t as “not a homosexual” as previously presumed. That was something Dave was definitely interested to hear, and after months of badgering from his matesprit, he was able to express that interest to John.

The movies were something they could all do together, considering their shared interest in film- or making fun of film, in Dave’s case.

Normally, Karkat would join in on the movie discussion, all while relishing the physical attention he was getting from both of his concupiscent partners. But not now, not when Dave’s hand is so goddamn close to his horns and it’s taking everything he has to keep his blush to a pink dusting instead of a flamboyant tomato red. Not that he’s embarrassed of his blood color around his partners; they’re both fully aware of just how red his blood and other bodily fluids are. It’s only his “cool,” as Dave would put it, that’s at stake here.

A cool he thoroughly loses when blunt nails gently scrape across the base of his horn.

The moan that escapes Karkat is faint, but just loud enough to be audible. It’s followed by a vehemently spit out curse as Karkat bats Dave’s hand away.

“Oh shit.” Dave says half amusedly, half apologetically. “Is that why you’ve been so quiet? My b, you shoulda told me.”

“Should have told _us_.” John interjects before Karkat can respond. “So we could help you have more fun.”

As always, John is quick to turn his attention from his previous focus to something more devious in nature, Karkat thinks sourly. The mischievous behavior that comes with being a “pranking master” influences the rest of John’s personality heavily, along with his libido, apparently.

John reaches for one of Karkat’s horns, his kismesis backing into Dave with a defensive growl. Dave wraps his arms around his matesprit’s middle, laughing lightly before pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head, right between his colorful nubs. John laughs, too, letting his fingers brush over one Karkat’s said nubs, undeterred by his posturing and teeth snapping.

“Keep your grubby prong digits away from my head, you insatiable pan dead asshaaAAH.”

Whatever argument Karkat was forming is silenced when Dave presses his lips to his matesprit’s other horn, soft tongue encircling the tip. Karkat’s lips part with a moan, followed by a soft chirp.

Et tu, Dave?

“M-movie…” He manages to stutter out, only to be shushed by Dave.

“It was a bad movie, anyway.” He murmurs before sinking his mouth over the velvety bone.

“And you have bad taste.” John mumbles, earning him the bird from Dave since his mouth is too full of horn for a verbal response.

The wet warmth sends shivers up and down Karkat’s spine, and he whines at the growing tightness in his pants. He’s shown no sympathy, though, suffocated bulge ignored as fingers, lips, teeth, and tongue alike work away at his (quickly becoming over-sensitized) ridged nubs.

Karkat’s hand starts to twitch towards his pants’ button, John snatching his wrist once he catches on. “Rude, skipping ahead without us.” He chastises. “Dave?”

Dave, long since accommodated to John’s surprisingly bossy nature in bed (or on the couch) knows what to do, taking ahold of both Karkat’s wrists and holding them behind his back.

“Assholes.” He slurs out, his usual creativity and colorful language lost to him as parts of his brain continue to shut down and shift focus to the pressing problem in between his legs. Well, actually, most of the focus is centered on the top of his head; his horns behave like lightning rods, bundles of nerve endings absorbing the ministrations of his partners, sending the shockwaves through the rest of his body. His hips rock uselessly with the shocks, his bulge desperately seeking friction, nook demanding to be filled.

Material is already seeping through the inseam of his thick jeans.

It’s frankly embarrassing how sensitive his horns are, and infuriating how much joy Dave and John take in taking advantage of this particular weakness their shared partner has. Lots of things are infuriating right now, actually. The pressure of Dave’s fingers wrapped around his wrists, John’s insufferable buck-toothed grin, light brushes of his fingers just barely teasing one of his nubs compared to the overbearing sensation of Dave’s mouth over the other, the softness of his tongue, the occasional light scrape of his teeth. It’s maddening.

It feels like it goes on for hours.

“Begging will get you nowhere.” John teases, much to Karkat’s confusion. What is he talking about, who’s begging?

Oh.

Without Karkat noticing, small, soft pleas have started escaping from his lips.

He hears it now.

The pleases are punctuated by whining and whimpering, and even now that he has been made painfully aware, face flushing deep shades of red with shame, he couldn’t make himself stop. His voice keens, the pathetic, high pitched begging poured out of him unbidden, much like the fluid dripping from his nook and bulge. He was just so damn _close_. It wasn’t enough, and so he hovered there at the precipice, the stimulation on his abused horns breaching onto something painful, groin aching with want.

“Fuck, please, please, I want to come, let me come you goddamned-” His most embarrassing plea yet is cut off by a choking sound as Dave, ever the sympathetic one, gently, but not too gently, sinks his teeth into the fleshy base of Karkat’s horn.

And that does it.

The choke turns into a low, guttural moan, followed by several loud chirps as material rushes out of Karkat. His nook twitches around nothing, bulge coiled needily around itself, and fuck if his well earned release didn't feel blissful.

He feels something wet on his ankle. All the way there? Huh.

John tuts disappointedly. “Geez, Dave, the fun was just starting.” He mopes, taking his hand off of Karkat’s horn, much to his relief. Dave’s mouth is next, detaching from Karkat’s other horn with a wet pop. The cold air hitting his wet horn makes him shiver.

“You’re heartless, man.” Dave chuckles. “Poor guy was putting his heart and soul into tryin’ to make us get him off.”

The “poor guy” pays no attention to either of them, too blissed out to care about their banter. A light flow of material still oozes from his pulsating nook and bulge, trailing down the insides of his pant legs and dripping off the leather couch and onto the hardwood floor (Dave and Karkat learned early on to have as few absorbent surfaces in the house as possible.) When he’s finally done and spent, he sinks into Dave with a deep, satisfied purr, face turning to the side to press into his soft sweater. Dave coos affectionately, fingers brushing through Karkat’s damp, sweaty hair.

“Haha, you guys are adorable.” John muses, flopping down onto Karkat’s stomach, who grunts in annoyance. He reaches down to flick John’s forehead.

“Shut the fuck up and let me enjoy my afterglow, worm.” He growls, momentarily seething before the purring starts up again.

John, for once, complies, sighing contently and letting his eyes slip shut, glasses pushed askew when he rests his head on Karkat. A rare calm falls over the three of them, Karkat’s purrs revving like an engine and lulling the normally rambunctious trio into a peaceful silence.

Then the music for the movie’s credits start playing.

“Ah shit.” John moroses, reaching for the remote and hitting rewind. “We missed the ending!”

Dave and Karkat both groan in tandem before kicking John off the couch, ass splashing into a puddle of red splooge.


End file.
